The Eye, I?
by Thor
Summary: Patricia finds a Bible and considers the lessons therein. (Warning, this story contains themes of child kidnapping, torture, ect. Do not read if this offends you, and do not think I endorse said actions.)
1. Am I pretty?

Greetings to thee, the one person who is a loyal and constant reader. Yes, I'm just talking to you. And if you believe that i have a bridge to sell you. In any case I finally have my new computer up and (more or less) running. Thus I hope to once more start all sorts of postings and reviews and grab bag giveaways...well, one two of three isn't bad. This is just a small sampling of a selection of stries and posts that shall stream from some of my on-line adventures. Please enjoy, review, and send thoughts and or comments to me at arcanloth@hotmail.com.  
  
  
The Eye, I?: A Tale of Savannah  
  
Dramatis Personae:  
  
Patrick Creon: Pack ductus of Eye and a stern and disciplined templar to the Bishop.  
Rick Elyts: Pack enforcer for Eye, a violent wild man who loves guns, bikes, guns, violence, and guns.  
Pat Janus: Most despised and useless member of Eye, no one is quite sure what he's good for.  
Adam Minim: Malkavian antitribu mathamatician. He seeks answers through his formulas.  
Cosa "The Horror": Bishop of Savannah, this ancient Sabbat has fleshcrafted himself into a bolbus mass of a creature with everything from horns on its head to gleaming eyes and claws. He lurks in its pond of blood beneath the Sabbat havens and offers prophecies and advice.  
Patricia March: The composer of these journals and a member of Eye. A Tzimisce who has truly become one with the madness seeping at the core of the local Sabbat.  
  
Patricia's Journal, night 489 since the night of arrival in Savannah  
  
"You said there'd be candy." The young girl steps into the room. Web? Dungeon? Who can be sure really. I think she's upset. Blood flows to her face in a pretty red wash. Not outside but inside. It is what's inside that counts. It always is and always shall be. She glares at me. Such pretty eyes, even angry. "There's no candy!"  
  
Her voice squeals a little bit. It grates on my nerves now. Not so pretty. It was prettier before. When she had held out her hand and asked for some money. I had given her some from Patrick's wallet. Patrick? Yes. Wallet in purse. Wallet in purse? How amusing is that? Two in one to protect a one. One…one dollar…one hand…one life. One for one, a fair exchange.  
  
"I don't like it here! It's creepy! There's no candy! I wanna leave now!" One hand….one door…one way out…one lock. One for one, there is no escape. Adam would be annoyed, one for one. He wouldn't think it right. But his math hurts my head. Too much thinking when thinking is to be done with feelings, not the head and logic. Logic for thinking logically? What a thought. "Let me out! Why's it locked! I want out!"  
  
"You told me you were pretty. I said you were, you said I was. I can still smell Wuffles here sometimes. It makes me cry. You make so much noise. Noisy outside, not pretty. Pretty inside quiet?  
  
I test the theory.  
  
Adam would laugh.  
  
She is still screaming, but all you have to do is twist that part right below the tongue and it doesn't matter. I search and I search. It must be for hours. Search and search. But still there's no prettiness inside. No one with inner beauty to match outer beauty. I know, I've looked. I even went through the entire lower intestine to see if it had gotten caught down there.  
  
It hadn't.  
  
There was no beauty. I leave the mess. I'll make Pat clean it up. Patrick will be annoyed. I wonder why I still have food in Wuffles' bowl? It's not like he eats it. But it's one chore to do for him to make him happy once more. One chore for one dog.  
  
One for one.  
  
I'll look for something pretty again tomorrow. 


	2. The Banana

Patricia is still at it, and if poor Icy Mike thought her one and one arguments got hard to follow before then he is sure to tear out his eyes (I?) and throw them at me for this piece. In this entry Patricia realizes that her supply of small children is getting low, and develops a plan to solve the problem. Of course the plan has nothing to do with the banana, though the banana is the start of the plan. I'd explain more, but I figured I'd just let Patricia do the talking...  
  
  
The Eye, I? :A Tale of Savannah  
  
  
Patricia's Journal, night 493 since the night of arrival in Savannah  
  
Once I had a banana. A whole banana. Who would have thought it could have lasted in there. Though the skin was still on. Of course he was a stage magician. Right after the act I did an act. Thus he thought I was pretty, and said as much to me. He actually didn't have a stage, now that I think about it. Think about it? I'm watching it. The banana that is. Though I watched the rest.  
  
I had felt sorry for him. There he stood, alone on the corner. A hat in front of him. There had been $1.35 in the hat. Two quarters, six dimes, three nickels and ten pennies. He had been doing his act. Hiding things up sleeves. Cupping things in his hand and pulling them out later from his "ear". Of course it was all quite funny. Till the banana. I do remember that, even now. He just swallowed it whole. With the skin still on. Said he used to have a job in the carnival. A freak act.  
  
Freak act.  
  
I took him home.  
  
He was grateful for my offer. He saw the beauty outside. More of me then the city. He spent $1.25 buying me a soda on the way here. He kept the pennies. Ten pennies. Five for two. Two for five. But one for each one and you have five again. So is the two even needed? I thought not. Maybe I will ask Adam. He will tell me that one and one is two. But it is not…it is ten. The soda is on the counter. I will give it to Pat. The soda. Not the counter, it is mine.  
  
One for one.  
  
He kissed me then. I asked him to show me the banana trick. The one with the skin still on. I think he was confused. It is hard to tell. He said it would be hard to do again, that they did fill him up so. He said that it could actually be a little painful afterwards. But usually it was worth it, he said. He claimed that it often got a few extra coins when he did it. He had one penny plus one more, plus one more, plus one more, plus one more, plus one more, plus one more, plus one more, plus one more, plus one more. So he had ten. But only one. One with the skin still on. One banana in one belly, and two couldn't exist.  
  
I took it out for him.  
  
He didn't seem thankful.  
  
I cried.  
  
After I forgave him for hitting me…and then gave him his hands back, we spent the next few hours trying to improve his tricks. I put the cards into his wrists and hid the rings in his back. I even put those colorful sticks into his ear. He wasn't like the banana, the skin came off. He didn't seem to mind. He seemed so pleased with it all. His one fused lip stuck in that wonderfully permanent grin I had given him. One grin for his one love. One for one. I loved that banana.  
  
So I sit here now and look at the banana. The one with the skin still on. It looks like Wuffles' tail. I have the tail. It is brown. I have his right foot too. I took it off his left leg. A mistake. I admit it. But he didn't seem as happy when I fixed it. Wuffles needs the happy face, I'll give it to him later. Once he comes home. But I have the tail, so can he come wagging his tail behind him? I think not. But the foot…it is white. White and brown and yellow. A banana. A banana split with one and one scoops of chocolate and vanilla ice-cream.  
  
I like ice-cream  
  
It seems that my problems of supply could be dealt with by ice cream. Little children like ice cream too, for it is sugary and good. They will like my ice cream, and then they will come with me. It is a perfect plan, of this I am sure. 


	3. The Lord shall save us?

Patricia's Journal, night 14 since I found a banana  
  
Patrick left his bible on the table last night. He is always so careless with his things. I often have to clean up after all of them, it's not like anyone else picks up the messes. But I read the bible, and it told me stuff. Did you know that all we have to do is accept Jesus Christ as our Lord and Savior and we shall be saved?  
  
I do not know from what.  
  
Patrick disagrees, even though he carries the book around. He tells me that the Lord is the Horror. Or Cutie Cosa as I have called him. But I do not know why the Horror is my Lord. And if he is, then Jesus Christ isn't. If that is so, I shall not be saved.  
  
I do not know from what.  
  
The Horror as a Lord is strange. Jesus had a sermon on the mount. The Horror says stuff from his pool. If you yelled at Jesus he could rush you very quickly, or wait in defense, as he has given himself the high ground. The Horror sits in a hole filled with water. He is the low ground. It does not seem like a very good tactical choice for our supposed military commander. Is this the Lord that will save us?  
  
I do not know from what.  
  
I of course needed to talk to Jesus, to see if he made more sense then the Horror. Usually when that one speaks I become bored. When I am bored I think of things. Like Wuffles. He was very naughty last week. I rang his bell, and rang it and rang it. But he didn't come to get his ears back. What a stupid dog. So there I was having to talk to Jesus, which is not easy. For he is dead. The Horror is dead too. Maybe they can both save us.  
  
I do not know from what.  
  
The children seemed scared when I started. I do not blame them. I wasn't sure what I was doing. I do so hate it when I have to invent my methods as I go. I prefer the order that Adam speaks of. He calls them formulas. I have written some on his skin before. The formulas are chaos given order. He orders chaos, but does it listen? I think not. Not. Knot? The knots I tied their throats in did lessen the noise, but I couldn't leave them like that once I had started. I would have taken off their ears so they couldn't hear me mutter in confusion. But then how would they bring back the message to me? I needed one to send to the One for this one. one for One. I thought it made sense. I would learn how to be saved.  
  
I do not know from what.  
  
At first I tried bungee cords. But no matter how hard I tried, they couldn't bounce back properly. Adam told me it all had to do with figuring out the relative friction exerted by the soul within the afterlife. Something about corporeal impetus on spiritual matter in a non-linear progression of concentrated and cumulative masses. Then he went away and wrote many pages of notes. On the way out he shot Pat. I forgot that I asked him to help. I forgot when he showed up. He showed up? Maybe I should ask him to help with the bungee cords. I need to get through to Jesus to see if he can save me.  
  
I do not know from what.  
  
I am still trying, but the children are just dying. Yes, that rhymes. I don't care though. Because none of them are being pulled back to me to talk about Jesus. Even when I keep their mouths here so they can tell me what they see there. I keep having to kill them, and I don't know how many more I can find. The radio is talking about missing children. It says the police are trying to save them.  
  
I do not know from what. 


End file.
